


Enchufla

by leftfoottrapped (miikkaa_xx)



Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ, JYJ - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miikkaa_xx/pseuds/leftfoottrapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between being a teenager, leader, and best friend, Yunho finds Junsu, and maybe himself, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enchufla

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings:** language, explicit sex, angst, has a happy ending. unbeta'd - please feel free to point out any errors in prose and/or characterisation.

-

‘Maybe you guys should do a couple dance,’ says Yoochun, utterly serious as he lays splayed out on the hardwood of the dance floor. ‘Considering you guys are the only two who _don’t ever stop dancing_ and it’d be a good sight for the audience while we can just stand in the background and sing.’

Jaejoong wholeheartedly approves this idea with a dying groan, keeled against the wall. Changmin is too busy chugging down his fifth water bottle to contribute. Only Yunho stands, hands on his hips, with Junsu swaying in stubbornness – not willing to let his fatigue show if Yunho doesn’t have to. Yunho rolls his eyes.

‘Don’t joke, Yoochun-ah,’ he drawls.

Yoochun clicks his tongue. ‘I’m really not joking.’

Jaejoong snarls out a, ‘let’s go the fuck home already,’ and waves at Changmin to bring him a water bottle. Changmin tosses one, smacking Jaejoong’s arm, and Jaejoong is too tired to even flip Changmin off. Yunho purses his mouth. Maybe they _should_ just call it a day and go home.

‘Fine – you’re all dismissed!’ he says – a little magnanimously – and Jaejoong glares violent murder at him before taking his gym bag and shuffling out, Yoochun and Changmin following. Only Junsu is left – still swaying back and forth – but _standing_.

‘You too, Junsu-ah. Go back to the dorms,’ reminds Yunho, looking at him pointedly. Junsu pouts.

‘You’re not coming with?’

‘Need to clean up some stuff first – I’ll be there right after you.’

Junsu inclines his head. Yunho’s skin prickles and he turns away. He counts to five, ten, fifteen and finally hears the shuffle of feet and the closing of the dance practice door.

-

It’s in the middle of makeup right before an interview – Jaejoong’s getting his lipgloss put on, Changmin’s hair is trying to be tamed, the stylists have usually long given up on Yoochun, while Junsu arches his head for the blush, and Yunho is smiling pleasantly at his reflection while the bags in his eyes disappear beneath the concealer – that Junsu decides to bring it up:

‘You didn’t come home till three in the morning.’

Yunho’s smile falters, skews sideways, collapses. ‘Junsu.’

‘Just a reminder, hyung. You’re not immortal,’ he mentions, voice cool. When Yunho looks over, there’s no humour in his eyes or face. Something isn’t right in Yunho’s stomach and he tries to ignore it as Junsu slides out of his seat and disappears out of the corner of Yunho’s sight.

A beat later, and Changmin’s voice is reaching some annoyed pitch while Jaejoong laughs. Yunho glances over to Yoochun to his other side, and only sees the man give him a pointed look. ‘Junsu’s right – you should come home sooner. Like at midnight. With the rest of us.’

‘I have things to do,’ replies Yunho. His tone brooks no argument. Yoochun closes his mouth with a click and turns away – presumably to join in on ‘pester-the-maknae’ fun.

-

Yunho _is_ busy though.

He sits in the practice room, rewatching their practice videos over and over – focusing on each of their members, a notebook in his lap so he knows where they make a mistake and how to correct it. He knows that Changmin throws his weight too much on one leg, that Yoochun is still stiff around the shoulders, that Jaejoong needs to focus more on leg work, that Yunho is still fucking awful at this – that Yunho should know this fucking choreography by now – that his foot slipped from that one note, that he wasn’t in sync enough with the music, that his elbow wasn’t cocked and his shoulder didn’t pop and nothing is fucking right –

‘Go home,’ says Junsu at two in the morning, dressed in a hoodie, sweatpants, his hair flattened to one side and his voice smeared with sleep. It’s evident that he walked all the way here from the dorms in the middle of the night. Yunho pauses the video and swings his body around the bench to face Junsu.

‘I’m almost done. Go back and get to bed.’ He tries for reassuring. Junsu narrows his eyes.

‘You’re being stubborn, hyung.’

Yunho raises an eyebrow – ‘no, you are. Go back. I just need to finish this up and I’ll get it done faster if I knew you were back in bed resting.’

‘I would be back in bed resting if I knew you were in the dorm sleeping too,’ counters Junsu. He walks over to the TV and turns it off before collapsing on the bench beside Yunho. ‘It’s going to be fine.’

It’s two in the morning and Junsu expects Yunho to decipher feelings right now when they have to prepare for a month worth of dancing and promotions, why can’t Junsu just –

‘My name isn’t on your list,’ continues Junsu instead, peering down at the notebook in his hand. ‘What’s wrong with my choreo?’

There’s a beat where Yunho tries to catch up and he stares at the notebook as well before quickly flipping it closed. ‘There’s… nothing. Nothing. You’re perfect.’

Junsu hums. ‘I’m awkward on the turns.’

Yunho blinks, his mouth moving before he can stop it: ‘No, you’re not.’

‘I know my body, hyung.’ Junsu shoots him a look. ‘And at the pop back – where the bass drops – I need to be sharper and harder.’

It dawns on him then. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘Do what?’ presses Junsu. His face is serious and stern. ‘Do what, Yunho?’

‘ _My_ flaws are _there_ , and yours _aren’t_. This is fact. Just focus on being as good as you are now.’

‘Except not. Except no one is going to notice that Jaejoong’s legs don’t kick as high as mine except the manias. No one is gonna point at Changmin and tell him his hip is too far to the left except the manias.’ Junsu is staring at him expectantly now, and Yunho feels stripped and bare in some unfair way. ‘A dance with five people is a compilation, not an imitation. The feel of it has to be right. You know this. You _should_ know this.’

‘Are you lecturing your hyung?’ says Yunho after a beat and completely expects to get hit for it. Junsu bares his teeth in irritation but doesn’t move, just lets out a frustrated sigh.

‘And your dance is perfect,’ says Junsu, eyes on him, his gaze unrelenting. ‘Fucking perfect.’

There’s a beat and Yunho feels his throat go tight. ‘Thank you.’

‘Come home,’ says Junsu. Then – with a rustle of fabric – he reaches over and tangles his fingers between Yunho’s where they’re nestled in Yunho’s lap. Without thinking, Yunho slides the pad of his thumb across Junsu’s knuckles as he speaks.

‘I… can’t. You know I can’t.’ Yunho tries to keep his refusal gentle, but Junsu stiffens anyway and doesn’t let go.

‘Then I’ll stay here until you’re done.’

‘Junsu-ah…’ starts Yunho, alarmed.

‘No. Fuck you,’ Junsu snarls, ‘I’m sitting right here and I’ll take notes too and I’m not leaving until you’re leaving, alright?’

(It’s like jogging. It’s like working out. It’s like dancing. It’s the way Yunho is pushed by Junsu and Junsu is pushed by Yunho and even when Jaejoong and Yoochun and Changmin collapse halfway up the hill, or can’t do another set of weights, or feel like they’re dying of thirst – there’s Junsu. There’s Yunho. There’s them, together.)

‘Don’t fall asleep then,’ says Yunho instead and flips on the TV, rewinding the recording and then playing it again, eyes on Yoochun this time.

They finish by three and Junsu doesn’t nod off once. Just keeps watching, offering quiet input, and presses his shoulder against Yunho after they untangle their fingers. Eventually, Yunho stretches, turns off the TV, inserts a new memory chip into the camcorder for their next practice’s recording, and nudges at Junsu to go home with him.

‘You’re so stupid,’ says Junsu while they’re walking, and Yunho can’t help but laugh. It’s three in the morning, and if Yunho feels like he wants to lace their hands together one more time – call it fatigue, call it sleep-deprivation. (Yunho’s not tired anymore when Junsu doesn’t pull away.)

-

But it doesn’t stop. Doesn’t fucking let up. Junsu seems determined to run himself into the ground if it means he won’t lose to his hyung in some unspoken competition of stamina and observation. He follows Yunho _everywhere_ like some exhausted duckling, teeth clenched as Yunho quietly pleads for him to follow Jaejoong and go home, curl up on the couch with Changmin, sleep alongside Yoochun.

‘This isn’t a fucking game,’ snaps Yunho one day, hand on his hip and next week’s schedule in the other.

‘I’m going to do what I like since that’s all you do,’ replies Junsu without missing a beat.

‘I’m the _leader_ ,’ says Yunho. ‘It’s my goddamn _job_.’

‘It’s also your goddamn job to take care of yourself, but if you won’t do that, it means I will.’

That shuts Yunho’s mouth up quick. He makes another evaluating glance over Junsu – the comfortable post-dance practice clothes and unstyled hair, his face made up of dozens of imperfections underneath the ugly fluorescent lighting of the SM hallway, his mouth chapped, with sleep-deprived bruises blooming underneath his eyes.

‘Junsu-ah,’ breathes Yunho, reaching out to slide a hand over his cheek, but Junsu smoothly side-steps away from the touch, gaze hard.

‘We don’t have the time for this – what are you doing today?’

Yunho falters, then switches skins – let’s ‘hyung and co-dancer and co-worker and best fucking friend’ slip away and feels ‘leader-sshi’ lay itself over his shoulders, anchoring him down with its weight. He holds up the paper and says, ‘this’, and they begin.

-

For all the time Junsu spends in the early hours of the morning with Yunho, he doesn’t bother Yunho in the daylight – pestering Changmin or ducking around Yoochun. On his end, Yunho usually speaks quietly to Jaejoong, doesn’t bother with Junsu except when Junsu initiates contact.

He feels like he’s wearing Junsu down – like it’s his fault that Junsu is this stubborn, it’s his fault that he’s going to stay up and lose sleep over things that aren’t his responsibility. The thought blooms another weight on his shoulders and Yunho grits his teeth against the pressure.

Except sometimes – in the flurry of an interview, an impromptu filming of their activities, a candid camera – Junsu is there and Yunho pulls him in, and Junsu _holds on_ , a reassuring pressure against Yunho’s chest before he’s moving away and oxygen returns back to lungs.

Jaejoong gives him a pitying look sometimes at the breakfast table as Yunho struggles not to nod off. ‘Maybe you should take a break.’

‘I can’t,’ replies Yunho and feels like he’s had this conversation before.

‘This isn’t a competition, y’know. We have a manager.’

‘Manager needs to go home at night,’ says Yunho, poking listlessly at his rice before taking a bite.

‘If not for yourself, you gonna at least do it for your favourite?’

‘Who told you that you were my favourite,’ snorts Yunho.

‘You know who I’m talking about.’ Jaejoong props his chin on his hand, staring at him. Yunho flinches and starts eating his food a tad faster, eager to get out of there. ‘What are you doing, huh, _leader-sshi_? You’re working too hard to be healthy and nothing seems to change and you’re just screwing yourself over as Junsu wastes away too.’

‘He’s not wasting away,’ snaps Yunho, jerking his head upwards to lock eyes with the other. Jaejoong’s mouth flattens. ‘He’s not. He’s Junsu. He gets through anything. I _know_ him. He has limits – but he’ll stop before he hits them.’

‘No, he won’t. You know he won’t.’ Jaejoong stands up, a cigarette appearing between his fingers, his face marred with a scowl, obviously sick of this conversation. ‘He’s got no fucking limits when it comes to you.’

-

It goes like this:

Yunho is leader so Yunho needs to make sure everything is organized. That everything is straightened and carefully applied and that the dances are on point and they’re dressed in time and each performance is always a step above the previous. That they all know their Japanese and their Korean and that Jaejoong isn’t going to cuss out in public and Changmin is going to be civil to the old men in the room, that Yoochun isn’t going to drink too much, that Junsu is – that Junsu is –

It goes like this:

Yunho doesn’t check up on Junsu half as often as he should. As he does the others. Junsu knows SM – knows how to play up politeness, knows how to have enough of a personality to not give anything of himself away, knows how to dance, how to sing, how to please and teach and learn.

It goes like this:

Yunho’s favourite will always be Junsu. Yunho will never admit this.

-

‘Coffee,’ he says at midnight, holding two travel mugs in his hand and offering Yunho the blue one.

‘Thanks,’ murmurs Yunho, his hand sliding alongst Junsu’s and ignoring the comforting warmth that rushes down his arm and settles into his chest. He takes a sip – too hot – and sets it down on the floor where Junsu places his.

‘Thought you were going out with Hyukjae tonight,’ he mentions offhandedly, flipping through the pages of their script for their three interviews next week. There’s a pen in his mouth and he almost leaves an embarrassing line of drool over the papers when Junsu wrenches it out between his teeth.

‘Gross, hyung,’ he snorts, wiping the wet cap on his sleeve. ‘Nah, Hyukjae was going out with Donghae and I’m here to convince you to join before it’s too late.’

‘It’s midnight,’ says Yunho helpfully.

‘It’s too late,’ agrees Junsu, and Yunho’s throat catches on the next syllables as Junsu’s mouth wraps around the cap of the pen and pulls it off.

‘Gross, man,’ says Yunho, voice stilted. Junsu blows the pen cap right into his face in retaliation and Yunho can’t help but sputter and laugh, the surprise wetness of Junsu’s spit as it hits his neck and he’s diving forward, fingers pressed against Junsu’s sides, tickling him.

‘Oi – hyung,’ screeches Junsu, all fits of his special laughter that maybe Yunho’s been picking it up – the way each rumble of sound vibrates down Junsu’s entire body like he can’t help spilling his emotions everywhere.

They fall backwards off the bench, curving into a half-roll, and Junsu tries to kick him away but only slides against the hardwood floor and ends up on his side with Yunho’s face tucked in his neck, shaking with laughter that he’s valiantly trying to muffle. Yunho’s fingers flex and relax, laying themselves to surrender on Junsu’s waist, a silent promise not to continue. Junsu’s back arches, chest pushing up against Yunho’s, and there is no room to breathe anymore.

‘Get off,’ he says.

‘I don’t know, hyung, I’m pretty comfortable,’ replies Junsu easily. His mouth is skimming over Yunho’s hairline and Yunho is really, really trying to remember how to breathe again.

‘I have stuff to do, Junsu-ah.’ Except Junsu’s arms are coming around his back and pressing him tighter against Junsu. Yunho’s mouth is dry and empty of air.

‘Just. For a little while, alright?’ says Junsu, hugging him tight, pressing himself along the line of Yunho’s body and refusing to let go. ‘Like we used to, right?’

(We’d come home from dance practice – fresh from showers – and eat dinner at his house. His brother would still be at the university library, so we’d practice with the stereo blasting. You’d sit on the bottom bunk of the bed and watch him and correct him, and he would do the same to you, and eventually, when you were tired and sweaty and he’d be making too many shitty jokes that you would be laughing, you’d fall on him to make him shut up – all disgusting and bad smelling, whatever, man, he was the same, and it was gross and he’d say, ‘yah, this is awful’, and you’d whine, ‘but I’m comfortable’ and he’d let you rest there, ear against your chest listening to his steady heartbeat, fingers fitted between his ribs)

Yunho can’t do this can’t do this can’t – he’s the leader – he can’t really, _really_ fucking can’t –

‘At least you aren’t sweaty this time, but you still smell bad,’ mentions Junsu offhandedly, words pressing and sliding down Yunho’s skin. ‘You’re my best friend, you know that right?’

Yunho really fucking cannot –

‘Yeah,’ says Yunho, and presses back, fingers sliding from Junsu’s waist to his side, laying his hand over the arch of his ribs and it’s not the same, a little bit stilted, sliding sideways. It’s a new angle – they’re both on their sides this time – but it makes sense somehow –

(Don’t think)

Yunho doesn’t. He sleeps against Junsu, quietly, but each breath is deep and clear.

-

Yunho sometimes forgets that Junsu knows him best – knows him longest.

That they’ve lived together for over a year. That Junsu has seen Yunho in the mornings and Yunho in the night and Yunho dying of hunger and Yunho fill to bursting and Yunho sober and Yunho drunk and Yunho laughing and Yunho crying and Yunho having eighteen different stress breakdowns and panic attacks as rumours and practice and SM drive him down down down.

(That you should know Junsu. That you _should_ be able to decipher each expression and _should_ be able to read Junsu’s mood by walking into the room and _should_ be able to follow Junsu’s stream of thought the way Jaejoong and Yoochun can read each other so aptly at times)

‘Will you worry less when we make it big?’ asks Junsu one bleary-eyed morning at the kitchen table while Yunho quickly shovels breakfast in his mouth.

‘No,’ says Yunho simply – the word simply slipping out without conscious thought.

(You’re unapologetically honest in the mornings and Junsu knows this. That you mellow out when the day passes and play up the bullshit long into the night, but at the crack of dawn, all your guards are down)

‘And if we made it big in two countries? How about then?’

‘More stress.’

Junsu frowns. Yunho finishes off his bowl. When he stands up to clean his dishes, Junsu is gone.

-

There’s a baseline of success here in Korea, Yunho knows this. There will always be a certain number of fans that will support whatever they do – whether it’s an album dedicated to heartbreaking ballads or autotuned dance tunes or piling sexual innuendo after innuendo poorly disguised when Changmin moans something sweet and deep in the microphone.

Japan is different. Japan has no knowledge or expectation of them and who would give these five punks any attention when they barely know the language?

Sitting in their tiny rented apartment, Yoochun and Jaejoong are drinking moodily in the kitchen, Changmin is trying to translate the television shows, and Junsu is nursing his ego in one of the two bedrooms.

Yunho plucks the bottles from their hands and glares. ‘It’s almost three in the morning, go to bed.’

‘Fuck you, brat,’ snaps Jaejoong the same time Yoochun says, ‘Can’t – Junsu’s crying all over my bed.’

He manages to hustle them into the three person bedroom instead – forcing Yoochun to sleep on Junsu’s bed along with Jaejoong and Changmin. Eventually, he has to face the closed door of his and Yoochun’s room where Junsu has taken occupancy. Sucking in a deep breath, Yunho steps inside, and closes the door quickly and quietly behind him.

Junsu’s not crying on the bed. Junsu’s not even on the bed. He’s sitting at the sole desk shoved against the wall with a pen and paper, computer screen flicking through articles written in Japanese in something or another. Except Yunho has a guess.

‘Yoochun said you were crying all over his bed.’

Junsu doesn’t turn around – dressed in a tank top and boxers, Yunho can see how his shoulder blades push back in surprise at the presence of the other but otherwise remains unruffled. ‘I was,’ replies Junsu. His voice is a little raw around the edges as evidence.

‘You can stay here for tonight,’ adds Yunho softly, seating himself on the bottom bunk, eyes skimming blearily over the article on the screen. He’s too tired to catch anything but the vague phrases, ‘success’, ‘music’, ‘fans’.

Junsu minimizes the window and shuts off the screen, dousing the room in darkness. Yunho should’ve turned the lights on – but it’s too late now and his bones feel too heavy to move. ‘I’ll take bottom bunk.’

‘Don’t get up tomorrow,’ says Junsu quietly. Yunho lies down, nestling his head in the pillow, eyes half-lidded as he stares at the crisscrossed wooden slates of the bed above him. He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t give an excuse or a promise. It’s an evasive maneuver of the coward’s kind but Yunho is tired. Tired, tired, _tired_.

He hears Junsu shuffle, the rustle of his clothes getting closer and louder. Finally, the bed dips at Yunho’s hips and Junsu’s fingers are fitting around Yunho’s shoulders, his lashes tickling down the curve of Yunho’s cheek as he settles his body overtop of Yunho in a warm weight. ‘Don’t get up tomorrow,’ he repeats.

Yunho’s eyes are burning. His throat is tight. There’s no air in his lungs and he tries to blame it on the weight of Junsu’s body on his chest but that’s not it. That’s not it at all.

‘Please.’ Junsu’s voice has always been soft – but now it’s raw and edged with desperation.

With a heave, Yunho wraps an arm around Junsu’s waist and rolls both of them onto their sides. Junsu is pressed along the line of Yunho’s frame, fingers skittering from Yunho’s shoulders down around to the waist in a loose coil, his forehead tucked in the space between neck and clavicle.

‘You’re not heavy enough to hold me down, y’know,’ says Yunho, trying for light-hearted.

‘Fuck you,’ replies Junsu promptly. Yunho hides a relieved smile against Junsu’s hair at the crown of his head.

‘Let’s just go to bed, Junsu-ah.’ Except – instead of rolling away to climb onto the top bunk – Junsu replies by curving his arms tighter around Yunho’s waist, unwilling to let go.

‘I am in bed.’

‘Brat,’ sighs Yunho, attempting to scoot away.

Junsu’s grip becomes tighter, voice softer. ‘Don’t. Just. Don’t.’

(It’s not the first time you’ve accidentally fallen asleep in the same bed as him. It’s not the first time you’ve fallen asleep in front of him. It’s not the first time you’ve rested quietly at his side and breathed deep and tried to differentiate between the remnants of his cologne and his hairspray and the hotel soap. It’s not the first time)

‘Junsu.’ Yunho doesn’t really know what he’s trying to say. Or maybe argue. Maybe he just wants to let go. Maybe letting Junsu make this decision for him is better for Yunho. Maybe he’s just tired and he doesn’t want to fight anymore and maybe it’s okay, this is okay. He tries again: ‘Junsu.’

‘Good night,’ says Junsu in Japanese – accent stilted and smeared with sleep, and presses his mouth against the underside of Yunho’s chin.

And Yunho hums back in affection from the back of his throat – the touch of Junsu’s warmth sliding down his spine easy and right, before he closes his eyes and doesn’t think a single thought.

-

It gets better, of course. It has to. They weren’t born in Korea with a baseline. They have set fire to the stage and risen in a burst of ash and revival. Even if it’s foreign and strange, even if the sounds don’t sit right in his mouth and his accent threatens to ruin everything when he tries too hard – it gets better.

(You don’t get better, of course)

‘Come home,’ says Junsu at two in the morning over the phone and with the way his breath hitches, Yunho thinks – for one panicked moment – that he’s crying.

‘I’m almost done.’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Come the fuck home. Listen to me. You’re a terrible fucking hyung.’

Yunho blinks, staring at the script of Japanese in his hands, quietly translating it for himself in scribbles along the sides with a pen. ‘You’ve been spending too much time with Jaejoong.’

‘If you’re scared for the influences in my life, maybe you should come the fuck home and monitor them.’

‘Junsu-ah,’ murmurs Yunho.

‘Just listen to me. Just fucking _listen_.’

(His voice sounds like it’s coming through water. Muffled, stifled, bubbles of air trapped between the syllables. There’s something lost in translation)

‘Hyung? Are you still there? I swear if you’re no – ’

‘I’m listening,’ says Yunho.

Junsu blows loudly into the speaker in frustration. ‘I’ll tell you if you come home.’

(There’s a book – a children’s book. It’s more depressing than you ever thought, and you think something might’ve gotten lost between the French and the Korean, but the words still echo, still poetic – something like: _language is the source of misunderstandings_ but, between them, there shouldn’t be language; it’s never been with language)

‘I’m coming home.’

-

Junsu is asleep in Changmin and Jaejoong’s room by the time Yunho comes home.

Instead, Yunho watches Yoochun doze on the top bunk while he leans his hip against the doorframe, feeling bereft.

-

It feels unusual – to have Junsu drop a compliment like that on him. Or maybe it’s many compliments – Yunho hasn’t been keeping track. Stubborn, competitive, dancing Junsu – who pushes Yunho past his limits. Who forces him to keep up and keep at it. Who drives him forward, always forward.

Yunho sits silently on the couch while Junsu talks – his voice gentle and compelling, never missing a beat. He doesn’t say anything out of time or out of place. Bobs along to Yunho’s dialogue. Faces the camera with determination in his eye and seriousness along the tilt of his mouth.

Interviews like this – when they isolate the band into pairs and ask questions like this: ‘what is your relationship like? Your faults? Your good points?’ – Yunho can usually pull off a decent, pleasing answer and he prides himself in usually not screwing up.

(Your stomach is always tight for Jaejoong and Changmin – troublemakers that they are, and sometimes Yoochun, but never Ju – )

‘We’re a good couple,’ concludes Junsu cheerily. He glances over to lock eyes with Yunho and swings his gaze back to the camera. He grins; easy, confident. ‘A really good one.’

Yunho thinks about languages, about words, about grammar, about syntax.

Yunho thinks about history, about years, about living, about dancing.

Yunho thinks about music, about the body, about the tongue of movements.

Yunho thinks about a lot of things.

-

Junsu breaks his leg and Yunho cries that day.

He first sits at the hospital bed in stony silence and stubbornness.

No amount of needling, pleading, begging, and physical pulling will make Yunho budge from his rightful place at Junsu’s bedside, even when Junsu glares at him to leave. Jaejoong cusses him out loudly in front of the hospital staff in frustration until Yoochun cuffs him on the back of the head and promises to return in the morning as Changmin herds the manager away as well.

The nurse thinks Yunho is being oversentimental and stupid, slipping the anesthetic in Junsu’s veins with a glare in her eye, and Junsu echoes her thoughts loudly, ‘it’s just my leg, I’m not _dying_ ,’ but Yunho stays firmly rooted in his spot.

Eventually, Junsu falls asleep, and finally – finally – Yunho heaves one shuddering breath after another until he’s crying. Until there’s ugly tears down his cheeks and snot in his nose and coughs rumbling up his chest.

He dozes on and off again in his chair, and eventually – at four in the morning – Junsu sniffles awake and cracks open an eye, using his arm to lift up the sheet of his bed. ‘Hyung.’

It’s an order.

(Maybe you don’t want to be leader anymore, maybe you just want to take it easy, maybe you don’t want to feel like you’re crouching with the weight of everything on your shoulders all the time, maybe – )

Yunho doesn’t care anymore.

He crawls into the offered space, warmth wrapping around his bones, and he sleeps lined up against Junsu’s side without another thought.

-

When Jaejoong finds them like that in the morning, he says, ‘you’ve just ruined YooSu.’

Both Yoochun and Changmin snort, and Junsu retorts with an easy, ‘haven’t you been doing that for three years now?’

Jaejoong curls his mouth in mock irritation before he breaks into a relieved sigh and holds up a plastic bag of takeout food. ‘Brought some for you too, leader-sshi.’

‘Thanks,’ yawns Yunho, propping himself up on an elbow and taking the proffered bag. It’s cheap knockoff pad thai – greasy and not nutritious in the least, but filling. Yunho snaps two pairs of wooden chopsticks apart and picks at the lean cuts of beef between the noodles.

When he finds a cut shiny with oil and threaded with fat, he immediately snaps it up and shoves it against Junsu’s mouth. ‘Get your energy up.’

Junsu blinks twice in surprise but lets Yunho feed it to him, mouth closing around the chopsticks. He hums his thanks before meeting Jaejoong’s gaze – whose brow is furrowed, unimpressed.

‘Did the rest of you eat yet?’ asks Yunho, skin sliding back into ‘leader-sshi’ mode. His eyes flick between Jaejoong, Changmin, and Yoochun who stand around. The manager is getting coffee from down the hall and talking with the nurse.

‘Changmin devoured his portion _and_ mine,’ sniffs Jaejoong.

Changmin scowls. ‘You offered – said you didn’t want to eat it.’

‘I was obviously lying.’

Yoochun’s face turns pained, and Yunho empathizes. ‘Go get more food if you’re hungry then. We’ll still be here.’

Jaejoong rolls his eyes and looks at Junsu, ‘it’s too early for his leader shit. Make him shut up.’

Junsu shoves a chunk of bean sprouts into Yunho’s open mouth. It’s effective enough. While Yunho is chewing, the other three vacate the room to talk to the manager as Yunho sits in the cot beside Junsu.

‘Did you cry?’ asks Junsu quietly.

Yunho shifts, dragging his chopsticks through the noodles in silence.

‘I want to cry,’ confesses Junsu, voice still so soft. ‘I want to cry so fucking badly, but I don’t want to do it with you in front of me. So please – please, leave after we’re done eating. Just give me an hour at least.’

(You think about language, about words, about grammar, about syntax. You think about history, about years, about living, about dancing. You think about music, about the body, about the tongue of movements)

‘Please, hyung.’

(You think about air bubbles in the water. You think about mistranslations)

‘Please.’

(You think about him being asleep when you came home)

Yunho leaves.

-

Junsu dancing is something to be witnessed. His body is silk ribbon and feather-light weight – his body swimming through the air to the slip-slide of the music. He’s always been talented at this – naturally, effectively. The way Changmin creeps his voice up into the rafters with his high notes, the way Jaejoong runs his tones raw with emotion, the way Yoochun’s tongue chases after itself in multilingual syllables.

Junsu can sing too – that Yunho can’t deny. Junsu harmonizes gorgeously with Jaejoong and Changmin, holds his own with them when they slip out mournful ballads or powerful cries. He knows how to make his voice waver, his throat clench, the sound of his song vibrate in between the rest of them.

However – and this Yunho will always believe – Junsu holds a monopoly on dancing. There is no choreography that his body cannot bend to do, no footwork that he is incapable of mastering, how to drop from one level to the next, and rise back up to hit the bass of the music, spine and elbow and knee locking together then becoming quicksilver by the next beat.

In hindsight, it’s poetic that this is the last concert of its kind in Japan. There’s something heartbreakingly perfect about Junsu standing up from his wheelchair a week beforehand and saying, ‘I’m ready’, and to deliver an absolutely flawless performance on his inauguration into Tokyo Dome.

(There are a lot of things to say about hindsight, but you know that your history with him is not one of them, even if Jaejoong insists it is)

In their ugly rented apartment at five in the morning, Yunho sneaks into Junsu’s room, tugs on his wrist, and pulls him blearily out of the building entirely to sit on the roadside curb in their pajama bottoms and terribly patterned sweaters.

‘It’s cold, hyung,’ whines Junsu, face pinched in sleep-deprivation, exhaustion, and mild hatred. Admittedly, Yunho hasn’t given a valid explanation for what he wants at god-forsaken o’clock in the morning, but this is where he feels best, though Junsu probably feels terrible.

‘I want to listen,’ replies Yunho, wrapping an arm around Junsu’s shoulder and dragging him close.

‘What?’ Junsu stifles a yawn and glares up at him.

‘Once, you said if I came home, you would tell me everything. And – tonight, the first night – I’m home.’

It’s true – though Yunho isn’t sure if finishing the last concert here in Japan at some terrible hour at night and then not doing anything afterwards counts.

Jaejoong had immediately broken open the alcohol with Yoochun and they teamed up against Changmin and Junsu. Yunho had drank one drink for each of them and eventually retired to lie down on the bed, listening to them banging around the living room loudly.

Yunho thought about hindsight and realizations and languages and translations and the way his tongue lies heavy within his mouth.

At three in the morning, Yoochun had collapsed with Changmin on the couch and Jaejoong and Junsu over the bottom bunks in the second bedroom. At five in the morning, Yunho thought about listening.

Which lands him here – on the curbside in the cold air of Japan, the stars obscured with blinking high rises over the landscape and the sad echo of sirens in the distance. There are no people down this street – for which Yunho is thankful about. Up in the sky is the rumble of a helicopter. Down at the intersection, a car purrs by in the night. Another police siren screams out. Yunho likes this sort of muffled city silence – being raised within it – and he hasn’t felt so awake and clear-headed in a long time. Only Junsu drowses beside him – probably a little drunk and a little hungover at the same time.

‘We can do this tomorrow morning,’ offers Yunho, who realizes that just because _he_ gets it doesn’t mean Junsu does.

‘Will you come home tomorrow?’ asks Junsu, brow still furrowed like he’s confused.

‘I don’t know,’ he says, painfully honest. ‘But I did today.’

‘Yeah,’ Junsu agrees.

He presses his shoulder against Yunho and tucks his head in the crook of Yunho’s neck. He doesn’t say anything for a long time.

Then: ‘I think I got scared back then. That’s why I went to bed. I wonder if I was actually asleep.’

‘I think you were,’ offers Yunho.

‘Maybe.’ Junsu sounds doubtful. When he blinks, his eyelashes catch the skin right at Yunho’s throat and it tickles. ‘I think about you a lot.’ A beat. ‘I think I’m also drunk.’

He can’t help it – Yunho laughs. It’s a little pained, a little relieved. ‘Let’s go back to bed, yeah? We need to pack up tomorrow.’

Junsu’s fingers are curled tightly in his sleeve. ‘I think about living with you.’

Something. There’s something missing. Something else. But Yunho hasn’t known the language of Junsu for a long time now. He’s missing it.

‘You do – now let’s go to bed.’

‘No – ’ A sharp breath. ‘Not. I don’t know. Like before. But different.’

(You think about how you slept beside each other that one time and that the embrace was a little slanted, a little sideways. You think about how it was the perfect fit)

‘You’re drunk, Junsu-ah. Bed time.’

They stumble back into the apartment building. Junsu is frowning but let’s himself be tucked into the bottom bunk of Yunho’s bedroom. Yunho figures he might as well climb into Yoochun’s empty bunk up top when Junsu says: ‘sleep here. Again.’

(You think about not thinking)

‘Fine,’ Yunho laughs. Once more, the embrace is a little skewed. A little sideways.

It’s wonderful.

Yunho will try again some other night. This is good for now.

-

They go home.

On the plane, Changmin dozes lightly against Yunho’s shoulder, Yoochun is seated behind him humming along to his mp3, and across from Yunho is Junsu sprawled halfway over Jaejoong in his sleep.

Finally, they land in Korea after months.

The dorms are quiet for approximately ten minutes before Jaejoong is bounding out, mouth working fast over his phone as he organizes a get together in three hours. Yoochun’s already dropped by the convenience store for his favourite cigarettes, and Changmin crashes on the couch next to Junsu as they crank up the tv up to bask in the familiar sound of Korean washing through the living room.

Yunho heads to SM and meets with the manager. He sits with him and talks through a hiatus, through possible times to come back, the longest they can go, what they should do, how AVEX would treat their contract in contrast to SM. Questions, details, ruminations, explanations all falling onto Yunho’s lap as pads of paper after paper.

He thinks about reading it all in an empty studio room, taking notes and reviewing everything before trying to explain it to the rest of the band.

Instead, Yunho tucks it all in a bag and carries it back to the car. In ten minutes, he’s home to the quiet calm before the oncoming storm of the night.

Jaejoong flits out of his room to greet him – dressed in some sparkling blazer, his hair wet, and familiar cologne slinking down the hallway from his room. Yoochun and Changmin call out greetings from the living room, sharing the couch to read manwha on their respective sides. Junsu is boiling water for ramyeon in the kitchen and when Yunho walks in, he smiles, gesturing to the pot. ‘You’re home early. Want some?’

‘Thanks,’ says Yunho, spilling the papers over the kitchen table. He glances at Junsu from the corner of his eye – at the sleep rumpled hair, the sweatpants, the racerback tanktop slung over his torso. He looks like he just woke up from a long sleep.

When the urge to touch him hits, Yunho doesn’t resist. He stands beside the stove, hip pressing against Junsu’s, lining up right beside him. ‘You going out with Jaejoong tonight?’

‘Too tired,’ murmurs Junsu with a soft smile. ‘Hyukjae invited me out for drinks tomorrow night, wanna come?’

Yunho tilts his head in consideration, ‘I have to call some people first, but… Sure, that sounds nice.’

‘Okay,’ says Junsu. His voice sounds pleased. ‘Okay.’

The water boils. Yunho fishes out a seafood packet for himself and a chicken one for Junsu, lets the other pour the water into the bowls. Quickly, Yunho pushes the paper aside to make room on the table, bringing over glasses of water and chopsticks as Junsu transports the ramyeon.

They eat together in the late afternoon, the red-orange glow slip-sliding over the wooden floors of the kitchen. A music show is playing in the living room now, with added snide commentary from Changmin and Yoochun’s muffled laughter. Jaejoong is snarling in his phone and finally trips down the hallway, hanging up furiously on the person before flipping his hair and saying his goodbyes. ‘Don’t wait up – I’m eating dinner with Hyun Joong.’

‘Have fun with your boyfriend!’ calls out Changmin, and Jaejoong takes an added thirty seconds to cuss him out before he’s finally ducking out the front door and slamming it shut behind him.

‘This,’ starts Junsu carefully, eyes on the steam rising from his ramyeon, ‘this feels like home.’

‘Our home?’ teases Yunho, prodding at long memories and a history washed in dusty sunlight.

‘Yeah – sorta. But… better.’ Junsu purses his mouth. ‘You could always have this, y’know. You don’t have to work yourself to the bone. You don’t have to hurt yourself for us. You could just… come home. And live with us.’

Yunho is relearning the tongue of Junsu – all careful, competitive, a dancer and singer and best friend all at once. He hears Junsu, translates, and returns. ‘Live with _you_ , right?’ he says, keeping his voice deliberately light.

Junsu flicks his gaze to Yunho and it is all seriousness. ‘You want me to tell you everything?’

‘I did come home,’ proves Yunho, not that he needs to. Simply prodding at Junsu like this – with all his guards down, his softness put up in the crinkle of his clothes and the flat of his hair.

There’s a beat where they busy themselves with eating the ramyeon. Finally, Junsu seems to give up on organizing his own thoughts as he sighs out loud and says, clearly, perfectly, in his gentle voice: ‘I think about living with you. I think about sleeping beside you.’

Inadvertently, Yunho’s face flushes, but Junsu is ruthless, unforgiving. Maybe it’s karma for making him worry all those years, for stressing him out when it should’ve only been Yunho that was stressed. He keeps going: ‘I think about hugging you. I think about kissing you. I think about leaving bruises on your skin.’

‘Junsu-ah,’ blurts Yunho, and his face might be burning up. Or that the sun has pressed itself all along his back and across his cheeks. Or maybe this is some fever-dream concocted by his vague fantasies folding into each other and forming words to explain themselves.

Junsu finishes his ramyeon ridiculously quickly and gets up to wash his dishes in the sink. Yunho blinks once, twice. The TV is still playing. Changmin is still saying things in a quiet murmur and Yoochun is still laughing along. Jaejoong’s cologne has spread it’s talons through the entire dorm. There are a pile of papers on the chair beside Yunho’s thigh. Everything is still real, still standing.

‘Junsu-ah,’ he tries again, food all forgotten. Junsu turns and meets his gaze, unwilling to give it up. There’s always been that fight in him. Always that spark of determination. The entire world will bend its knee before Junsu ever does – this Yunho knows as surely as he knows his own skin, bones, voice.

‘You didn’t know,’ sighs Junsu, unimpressed, drying his hands on the towel. In three steps, he’s at Yunho’s side, leaning his hip against the table. ‘Just come home from now on.’

Without a sound, Yunho reaches forward and slides his thumb over Junsu’s hipbone that is pressed against the table, slipping the pad of his thumb underneath the waistband of Junsu’s sweats.

Junsu’s stomach goes concave in surprise. His eyes widen. ‘You don’t.’

(You have forgotten the language of Junsu, but you keep forgetting that maybe – maybe – maybe he has also forgotten the tongue of you. How you move, dance, feel, sing – all these parts of you are just as complex as his, and you are a fool for not thinking so before)

‘Try me,’ challenges Yunho.

Junsu’s jaw is set and he leans over Yunho as if to scare him away, mouth curling in conceit. ‘Hyung,’ he says – a warning.

Yunho sucks in a breath, before raising his chin and meeting his gaze head-on. They’ve always been better when they’re butting heads, when they’re arguing and trying to push each other, and claw each other up in order to build each other up better, faster, stronger.

So, Junsu dares, and it is glorious. The way he steps into the typhoon of their silent conversation – the press of his mouth against Yunho’s is like a hurricane with how much white noise it whips up in Yunho’s brain, how much it suddenly doesn’t matter what’s going on around them when the world has narrowed down to the point of contact between Junsu and him.

He tugs – gently – on Yunho’s bottom lip, gives him leeway to surrender and pull away, but Yunho surges upwards, lifting himself from his seat, ramyeon forgotten when he stands and Junsu’s neck tilts back, his arched spine lining his frame right down Yunho’s front.

When Junsu pulls away, his expression is still serious, though his mouth swells and there’s redness creeping up his neck. ‘Don’t fuck with me, hyung.’

‘I can drink you under the table, Su-ah,’ replies Yunho easily, ‘and I can dance and run longer than you. Maybe you shouldn’t fuck with me.’

‘Who told you these obvious lies?’ snorts the other, skittering his hands upwards to take a grip on Yunho’s shoulders. He tilts his chin back – offering – and Yunho takes, laying a soft kiss on Junsu’s mouth, cheek, jawline, neck. Each time, a small shiver slides down Junsu’s spine and Yunho can feel it with his hands wrapped around Junsu’s waist.

He wants to ask, ‘how much’ or ‘how long’ or maybe ‘please don’t let this end’, but the language of Junsu’s body is familiar to him and he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t hesitate when Junsu’s hands cup his neck and drag him down for another kiss, pulling sweetly at his bottom lip as he sucks the air right out of Yunho’s lungs.

They stumble sideways, knock against the table, and part – laughing. Junsu’s fingers end up tangled in Yunho’s, his eyes shining bright. Everything is warm. The sun’s laying gold over Junsu’s cheeks and mouth, draping him in treasure and wealth and Yunho can’t seem to take his eyes away.

The moment breaks when Changmin strolls in the kitchen, Yoochun in tow. Changmin zeroes in on the abandoned ramyeon on the table with surprising intensity. ‘Are you eating that?’

‘No, you can have it,’ says Yunho, pulling Junsu closer to him with their entangled fingers. Yoochun shuffles through the refrigerator, humming, and Junsu is pulling Yunho back – backwards, down the hall, into a bedroom, closing the door shut.

In the evening dimness of the room, Junsu surges up like a wave and kisses him again, as if he’s a drowning man and the air in Yunho’s lungs will save him. And maybe it will. Maybe this has been a long time coming. In hindsight – in hindsight –

In hindsight, Yunho still thinks he would’ve ended up here – a few years too late and still unchanged, but Junsu tries all the time. Tries to mold him, tell him he doesn’t need to do everything he has to, tells him that Yunho can take it easy, can come home without a heavy weight on his shoulders.

Will sex change that? Yunho doesn’t know – simply shuts down his brain and follows through. Kisses the oxygen away from Junsu’s mouth, his hands playing at the hem of Junsu’s shirt. Eventually, Junsu lifts his arms, ducking out of his shirt, and Yunho’s more familiar with this than he ever remembers. He knows the flex of abdominal muscle, the concavity of Junsu’s stomach when he inhales. Yunho knows. He knows knows knows – finally – _finally_ –

Junsu strips him down – the shirt and pants tugged away, and Yunho’s kicking it all off before his arms wind around Junsu’s waist, mouth unwilling to leave the softness of Junsu’s bottom lip sliding between Yunho’s teeth. When Yunho almost loses his balance, overbearing, Junsu only folds backwards, arms slung around Yunho’s neck, his dancer’s flexibility letting him mold still tight along the long line of Yunho’s skin.

With effort, Yunho pulls away, feeling the swell of his mouth and the flush crawling up his neck into his cheeks. Junsu swallows, his pupils blown wide open in arousal. ‘I’ll let you go if you want leader-sshi,’ he says, a smirk pulling at his mouth before his hips cant forward – damned dancing flexibility – and press the length of his half-hard cock against Yunho’s undershorts.

‘I’m not going to give up until you do, you know that,’ replies Yunho, and Junsu only widens his smile, exposing the glittering row of his teeth. Without missing a beat, Yunho leans forward and licks along the seam before Junsu’s shivering open, letting Yunho lick a heated trail up the roof of his mouth and along his tongue.

Yunho’s hands slip from Junsu’s waist and dip under the waistband of the sweats, his fingers curving along the warm heat of Junsu’s ass before he grips and grinds filthy-hard against Junsu’s groin. Junsu pulls his mouth away in a strangled groan – ‘wanna get off like this?’

‘Anything,’ confesses Yunho, a handful of hot, arching Junsu already pushing him past a limit of arousal he wasn’t sure he had. Junsu smiles at him, the flush on his cheeks making him look so much younger, more relaxed. They navigate to the bed in the corner somehow – and Junsu curves his body so that it’s Yunho being pressed against the sheets underneath him.

When Yunho looks up, Junsu is naked, his hands framing Yunho’s head as he hovers over Yunho’s body, cock flushed and half hard, mouth red and eyes glittering and blown open. Slowly, Yunho traces his fingers over Junsu’s body and Junsu doesn’t do anything to stop him – lets himself be mapped out under the questing hands.

Junsu has a dancer’s body – all tight, lean muscle roped together along the sinew of tendon and bone. There are no soft angles or plush bumps – everything is sleek and lithe, carefully carved out from years and months and hours of hard work. Yunho sucks in a breath – overwhelmed.

‘You’re stupidly beautiful,’ says Yunho, light-hearted but serious. Junsu’s eyes flutter as a bout of shyness hits him, then he leans over and pecks Yunho quickly on the mouth in thanks.

‘Bet you look better covered in come,’ replies Junsu, lifting a hand and tracing it over Yunho’s nipple then trailing down to his abdomen, which goes concave with how much air Yunho suddenly sucks in.

‘Don’t fuck with me, Junsu-ah,’ he murmurs, canting his hips upwards, dragging his cock – tenting his undershorts – against Junsu’s naked one. Junsu bites his tongue to muffle a groan before he drops to one arm at Yunho’s side, his other hand grabbing at Yunho’s cock underneath.

‘Get naked, _now_ ,’ he orders roughly, and Yunho lifts his hips so Junsu can drag away the last piece of clothing to the floor. There are countries of skin pressing up against each other now, Junsu mouthing at Yunho’s collarbone, then down to his chest, scraping his teeth across a nipple to hear Yunho hiss.

Everything is heated, sensitive – Junsu is working over his chest with unprecedented attention. His fingers and mouth alternate with flicking, biting, and tugging at Yunho’s chest, and Yunho is moaning pitifully, his breathing harsh, arousal shooting down his spine.

‘Fuck – fuck – you need to – ah – stop – ’ keens Yunho, desperate for a reprieve. Junsu leans back on his haunches, a hand wiping off the spit on his chin. He flicks his gaze downward at the flushed, leaking head of Yunho’s cock and grins.

‘Where else, Yundol?’ teases Junsu, and the nickname warms up something in Yunho’s gut that isn’t lust at all. ‘Neck? Your back? Your cock?’

‘Fuck,’ blurts Yunho, throwing a hand over his eyes. Inadvertently, he thrusts up and the long line of his cock drag along Junsu’s, making them both moan loudly. ‘Fuck,’ he repeats, and bucks up once more, creating that friction again.

Junsu drops back down to Yunho’s side and lays a hand on Yunho’s waist, tugging him to turn on his side as well and slides a hand around Yunho’s wrist. Misjudging, Yunho twists his hand and intertwines their fingers, and Junsu stiffens.

‘Yunho,’ murmurs Junsu and Yunho kisses his own name out of the other’s mouth, unwilling to let go. Junsu’s soft mouth is pliant and giving, warm when he traces Yunho’s searching tongue with his own, lets him learn the planes of his mouth as easily and comfortably as he wants. When they pull away, Junsu tugs at Yunho’s bottom lip, encouraging it to swell as his body shifts closer, the head of his cock leaving a sticky trail of precome over Yunho’s abdomen.

It’s a reminder and Yunho shivers, pulling away from the kiss. ‘You’re fuckin’ with me.’ His voice is ruined, the Gwangju peeking out through his slurred syllables. Junsu’s gaze goes sharp – eyes narrowing and he grins.

‘Say that again,’ he says, pulling his hand away from Yunho’s grip and wrapping it tightly around Yunho’s leaking cock. He tugs once, encouraging. ‘Say it.’

‘Say what?’ Yunho’s voice has dropped an octave and he can’t help the way his mouth folds over his words. ‘Don’t fuck with me, Su-ah. Do what you wanna – but you’re gonna lose.’

‘Am I?’ Junsu tugs at his cock, smears the precome over the head, watching Yunho’s eyes flutter as pleasure courses through his body. ‘I’m not going to stop, y’know.’ He gently scrapes a fingernail along the underside of Yunho’s cock, savouring his desperate keen. ‘Not going to stop until you come all over yourself.’ It makes Yunho’s hips jerk in Junsu’s grip and Junsu grins, hiding his face in the crook of Yunho’s neck, licking at the sweat collecting there and gently rutting his own cock in the corner of Yunho’s hip.

‘Fuck you, yeah,’ moans Yunho, ‘fu- _uck_ – no – ’ Suddenly, Junsu’s hand is knocked away and Yunho’s fingers wrap around _both_ of their cocks, lining them up, the underside of Yunho’s cock pressing unapologetically against Junsu.

Junsu makes a loud noise in the back of his throat, and only gets louder as Yunho tightens his fingers and strokes hard, base to tip, the of his tip catching along the ridge against Junsu’s dick. It’s hot – so fucking hot – using the pearling precome to slick Yunho’s grip, make it faster and harsher, tugging at them both.

Beside him, Junsu arches his back impossibly, his pliant body making a gorgeous curve for Yunho’s eyes to trace over as he lets them both fuck his fist – desperate and harsh. There are callouses and scars on Yunho’s hand, but the texture makes more friction and Junsu can’t get enough with the way his mouth falls open when the rough pad of Yunho’s thumb flicks over the leaking tip of his dick.

‘More, oh fuck – don’t stop – ’ snaps Junsu as his hips buck upwards, hands flying to Yunho’s shoulders to dig his nails into the skin. Yunho obeys – can’t think of a single reason why he wouldn’t when he has Junsu’s eyes on him, blurry with lust. He twists his wrist on the upstroke, catching the ridge of Junsu’s cockhead with his thumbnail, and Junsu pants, ‘Yunho, s’good – don’t st – op – ’

‘Su-ah,’ says Yunho, feeling the breath punched out of him as the long line of his cock rubs up against the slick skin of the other’s, the friction sparking up his spine, making him arch. Everything is hot – hotter – almost suffocating the way it burns up all the oxygen in the room as Junsu grip becomes tighter and his thrusts more frantic.

Yunho meets him for each buck of hips, his forehead knocking gently against Junsu, and they lock gazes for a moment. ‘Hyung,’ breathes Junsu, something reverent in his voice, and it has Yunho’s chest tightening so much that his fist around their cocks becomes more harsh, pleasure being tinged with pain as they keep fucking up against each other through the ring of Yunho’s long fingers.

‘’M close,’ blurts Yunho, feeling the precome slick each thrust faster and faster. The friction is sweet and good as it pulses through his veins, the line of Junsu’s skin as it presses against him searing into his psyche while his cock gets harder and closer to coming.

Suddenly, Junsu is kissing him again, wet and messy, teeth clicking together, as his hand leaves Yunho’s shoulder to thumb at the leaking heads of both their dicks. It’s so fucking filthy – the mess of Yunho’s saliva streaked over his chin as he pours out more precome for Junsu’s fingers. He feels broken open, unable to think straight, as Junsu strings his arousal tighter and tighter.

The fingers leave the cockheads as quickly as they came, and Yunho almost whines in disappointment, rutting so hard into the circle of his hand and against Junsu’s cock, chasing his orgasm. He’s so close, so fucking close, and – oh fuck – Junsu’s fingers are rolling his balls, dragging the edges of his nails against the skin before tugging at them in time with the rapid bucking of Yunho’s hips.

He comes – in a flurry, strings of semen draped over Junsu’s dick and the sheets between them as he milks out his orgasm with one, two, three thrusts into the still-tight grasp of his hand around them both. Junsu moans into Yunho’s mouth, their kiss turning sloppy, and Yunho doesn’t even think – just lets go of his own softening cock to harshly stroke Junsu’s dick.

‘Tighter, faster – c’mon,’ mumbles Junsu against Yunho’s mouth, his hips canted upwards in encouragement, ‘that’s right, c’mon - hyung – ’

Yunho kisses him shut again and digs his thumbnail into the slit at the crown of Junsu’s dick, and oh – it pushes him right over. Junsu moans loudly into his mouth, muffled by a tongue sliding against the ridge of his teeth as he leaves ropes of come over Yunho’s hand and abdomen and all over the sheets.

They lay there for a minute; Yunho working his mouth over the line of Junsu’s jawline now, wanting to shower him in warm, wet kisses for the next little while. Junsu shivers once as Yunho milks all his come out of him, and hums – contented. His hands find their way around Yunho’s shoulders, arching his body upwards to plant a soft kiss on Yunho’s temple, his nose, the bruises of sleep-deprivation under his eyelids, the bow of his mouth.

It makes something warm curl up tight under Yunho’s ribs and he’s breathing a little faster than before, heart rate ratcheting upwards, while Junsu leaves soft reminders of his affection over his face – now the cheekbones, the fluttering closed eyelids, the scar at his temple – beside his nose – beside his eyebrow.

‘Su-ah,’ murmurs Yunho, wanting to pull away, but Junsu tightens his grip around the other’s shoulders.

‘Let me take care of you,’ says Junsu softly. ‘Just – don’t think – ’

Something is burning in Yunho’s throat, in his eyes, in his chest.

‘S’okay, hyung,’ Junsu says, voice soft and gentle and lulling as something soft wipes at his skin, ‘You’re gonna be fine, Yunho-hyung.’

Yunho falls asleep, pressed tight against Junsu.

-

Of course, Jaejoong knows instantly the moment Yunho stumbles half-awake into the kitchen the following morning, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he turns on the coffee machine.

‘You slept well,’ mentions Jaejoong casually, seated at the table, his rice bowl already half-empty as he scrolls his phone.

‘Yeah,’ agrees Yunho, filling the machine with water and coffee grounds.

‘Will Junsu be up soon too?’ continues Jaejoong, his voice lilting, and Yunho lifts his head at that tone, his skin prickling with wariness. ‘And will he be wearing your boxers the way you’re wearing his?’

There’s a thud as Yunho’s forehead hits the cabinet. Jaejoong is laughing now. ‘Good fucking luck keeping this shit even mildly secret, Yunho-ah.’

The coffee machine whirs to life and begins pouring the liquid into the pot below loudly, drowning out Jaejoong’s voice, much to Yunho’s relief.

Next in the kitchen is Yoochun, bumming a morning cigarette from Jaejoong, and saying: ‘thanks in advance for not going a second round while I was asleep.’ Yunho is pretty sure his face is going to melt off now.

Eventually, Junsu and Changmin slide into the kitchen together. Junsu is back in his tanktop and – of course – Yunho’s boxers, making Jaejoong laugh harder. Changmin puts it together after Yoochun comes back and munches on breakfast beside him, letting him know between bites until Changmin is propping his chin on his palm and saying, ‘called it.’

‘As if you could call anything, you haven’t even kissed anyone,’ sneers Jaejoong, which results in Changmin snarling something back and Yoochun leaning against Changmin’s shoulder to anchor him down, which Yunho appreciates as he drinks from his first cup of coffee, letting the argument play out till it’s inevitable end in about two minutes.

As he leans against the kitchen counter, he watches the way Junsu eats slowly and sleepily, the long rest from last night making him feel better than he has in a long time.

(He takes care of you too much already, chases you down and holds you up with his company, is that soft pressure against your side, the weight in your heart, which you greedily latch onto. He’s been taking care of you for _years_ )

Yet, for a little while, Yunho wants to savour this. Wants to stand back and watch Junsu in his morning softness, in the quiet way he talks at Yoochun, lets Changmin snatch bits of food from his bowl, smiles in gratitude when Jaejoong silently spoons in more food in the bowl when it nears finishing.

Junsu glances up – away from Yoochun – and catches Yunho’s eyes and he raises his eyebrows in question.

(You keep saying that you’ve forgotten his language, but all you’ve been doing is avoiding it, isn’t that it? Skirt around the edges of hugs gone slanted, of palms heavy against the small of your back, cutting gazes across a room when your smile has gone stiff)

Yunho blinks – slow – not retreating, and Junsu smiles, relieved.

‘Is this going to be a thing?’ asks Jaejoong, sounding appalled as he glances between them.

Junsu levels a cool look on him though his mouth is smiling, ‘jealous, hyung?’

Jaejoong turns on him, gaze narrowed as he appraises the other across the table.

‘Yunho-hyung was mine before he even met you,’ states Junsu plainly, and the possessiveness sends a frission of heat down Yunho’s spine as he wonders when to step in. Jaejoong inhales sharply, leaning back in his chair, before bursting in a fit of breathy laughter.

‘How could I ever forget,’ answers Jaejoong sweetly, smiling, and Yunho can hear the alarm bells ringing in the apartment already. He places his cup down behind him on the counter, when suddenly Changmin’s condescending voice rips through the tension:

‘You do it all the time with Yoochun,’ and Changmin swings his arm around Yoochun’s neck to bring him close as if in demonstration.

‘And you’ll never have anyone like that,’ mocks Jaejoong easily, all his attention on Changmin this time, face marred with irritation, and Yoochun only laughs pleasantly, a hand on the back of Changmin’s neck as he reaches out for Jaejoong across the table with his free hand.

Yunho exhales and continues watching from the background, the tension ramping back up in his shoulders. For half a minute, he turns around for his second cup of coffee and to spoon rice in his bowl, and when he looks back at the table, Junsu is gone.

-

‘Will you come home now?’ he asks, face open, voice laid out and raw, nothing like that manufactured, perfected croon he has on stage.

Yunho pauses, then continues sliding his shirt over himself. The clock reads eight thirty six and they need to be gone in the next half hour, except Junsu is still in his boxers, sitting on his bed, watching him, elbow on knee, chin propped on his palm.

‘Junsu-ah,’ starts Yunho, voice gentle, and Junsu reads right through him, rips past his aching vocal cords to grasp at the words shoved tight in the spaces between his ribs.

‘That’s what I thought,’ he says. A tongue darts out, leaves a wet line across his bottom lip, and Yunho swallows audibly before looking away.

‘Need to get ready, Junsu,’ he says, but Junsu is already moving towards the door to leave him. It makes Yunho feel oddly bereft, except he’s missing something he’s never quite had.

-

Yunho doesn’t come home before two in the morning for a day.

-

The in-between spaces – caught between each inhale and exhale of a day – is where Junsu catches him, threading his fingers through Yunho’s hair and sucking his bottom lip into the hot wet cavern of Junsu’s mouth.

The first time had been hurried, but this is clearly going to be different. It’s the middle of the day, a break between the morning radio show and the evening musical performance, and maybe nobody is home, Yunho doesn’t remember, especially when Junsu sucks at his tongue, scraping his teeth down the line of Yunho’s jaw as his fingers pop the buttons on Yunho’s jeans.

The sunlight is pouring through the open curtains, leaving a square of yellow over Junsu’s bared skin when he sheds all his clothes. He looks like he’s wreathed in gold, making Yunho’s breath catch. It’s enough of a pause for Junsu to push him down on his back, peppering his neck and collarbone with more kisses.

‘Get naked for me, hyung,’ orders Junsu softly against the shell of Yunho’s ear before he’s retreating from the bed entirely. Yunho obeys – he can’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t because it’s Junsu, it’s his best friend, it’s the one person who’ll climb a mountain just cause Yunho was at the summit.

Naked, Yunho reclines against the sheets of the bed, cock already hard as he watches Junsu stand beside him, his face schooled into lust with pupils blown open, lips wet, a flush over his cheeks. In one hand, he’s holding a tube of lube and condoms, tossing it on the bedspread at Yunho’s hip.

‘I don’t – I – ’ Yunho licks his lips. ‘How?’

Junsu smiles at him, soft, kind, and it eases Yunho as he feels the other straddle him, leaning forward for a kiss. Then another. Another. This Yunho loves best – the attentive slide of Junsu’s lips over his skin, the way he warms Yunho with each touch, each flutter of lashes grazing his jaw when Junsu scrapes a long line down Yunho’s neck with his teeth.

When Junsu curls a hand around Yunho’s cock, he arches with a gasp, bucking into the grip. Junsu is smiling, pleased, and leans back. ‘Do you want to fuck me?’

Something in Yunho’s brain breaks and he stares back at Junsu for a moment, trying to register, ignoring the pulls of arousal from each stroke on his cock. ‘Ah – Junsu-ah – please – please – ’

It’s the right answer because Junsu is ducking down, licking a stripe from root to tip to suckle at the head of Yunho’s cock. Yunho bangs his head against the headboard behind him at the friction. He should be used to it – hurried handjobs and blowjobs, Junsu forcibly exploring his body between the gasped out moments of their schedules, leaving him dazed and blank, blissfully ignorant of life just for a few minutes – peaceful and warm.

Yet, each time, it feels like the first time. The way Junsu learns him and relearns him, traces his body with fingers and mouth and tongue – it has Yunho panting and begging, has his fingers wound tight in the sheets around him as Junsu drags an orgasm from him but stopping just at the edge.

Junsu leaves a kittenish lick at the leaking slit of Yunho’s cock, sliding further downwards to take one of his balls and suck lightly at the skin, punching the breath out of Yunho’s chest. ‘Su-ah, s’good, oh – ’

He gets a hum in reply, except the hum travels from his balls to the tip of his cock, spitting more precome in arousal. There are slick sounds somewhere, and Yunho can’t tell if it’s from his desperate panting, the sound of Junsu working over his cock and balls with his mouth, or something else entirely. He only tries hard to keep himself still for Junsu, whose one hand has his hip pinned to the bed.

Finally, Junsu pulls off, his mouth flushed and red, slick with precome and spit. Yunho makes a garbled noise of arousal, and the other laughs quietly. ‘Gonna make this good for you, hyung,’ he murmurs, lifting himself up and Yunho feels wetness at the crease of Junsu’s ass, understands what he was doing to himself while distracting Yunho with his mouth on his cock.

‘Su-ah,’ he says in a rush, ‘oh – you – fu- _uck_ – ’ and his voice cuts off as Junsu sinks down on his cock in one fluid movement, his hips hypnotizing the way they slide and shift over him. Yunho is mesmerized – by Junsu’s body all lithe and perfect, his eyes shining and mouth pursed, a sheen of sweat over his skin making him glow in the late afternoon sun.

The curve of Junsu’s cock is softening and Junsu looks at him, ‘get me hard again, hyung’, and Yunho surges upwards, knocking his teeth against Junsu’s in a messy kiss, hand wrapping comfortably and familiarly over Junsu’s cock to tug him back to stiffness, making the shivers vibrate down the other’s spine.

It’s so fucking hot being with Junsu – who is all lithe dancer first, his head tilted back to meet the kiss, back arching back when Yunho makes a desperate sound and dives further into his mouth. Though Junsu is smaller than him, it still feels like he has shackles on Yunho’s wrists and ankles, controls him from the beginning, and Yunho doesn’t find that he cares at all.

The flexibility of Junsu has Yunho gasping when he begins to rolls his hips – all sensual heat and practice, little yips and moans pressed against Yunho’s mouth as he opens himself up on Yunho’s cock for the first time. It’s glorious – the clench and heat of it pressing tight against Yunho’s dick, and he groans aloud when Junsu tightens up at the downstroke.

‘You okay?’ asks Junsu, the words panted out as he continues riding Yunho’s cock, muscles loosening to take Yunho in easier and easier, faster, harder. He raises himself up then and drops down, the loud smack of Yunho’s balls against his thighs making a pulse of lewd arousal pulse through Yunho’s spine.

‘Yeah – oh – fuck – Su-ah,’ manages Yunho, eyes fluttering closed as the sensation threatens to overwhelm him. He feels hands on his chest, pushing him down on his back, and he goes willingly, pliantly, the sheets sticking to the sweat on his skin now. When he opens his eyes, Junsu is biting his bottom lip, eyes half-lidded, as he fucks himself on Yunho’s dick – looking like a boy, a whore, a god –

‘How is it?’ he asks, the flush over his cheeks highlighting the frame of his face, the way his nails sink into the flesh of Yunho’s chest as he holds on and twists his hips to get the cock in faster, deeper, _harder_.

‘Wanna fuck you like this all the time,’ sobs out Yunho with every thrust, ‘wanna have you opened up ‘round me, wanna see you – just be with you – ’ And Junsu answers by squeezing his hole and twisting, the crown of Yunho’s cock driving right deep inside of him and making him keen breathlessly, spit streaking down his chin as the pleasure mounts upwards with each movement.

It’s embarrassing how Yunho blabbers, his accent smearing everything, but Junsu knows this part of him too now, Junsu takes him all in, understands him even while he’s gasping out lewd words like, ‘wanna see you come on my cock, wanna flip you over and see my dick in your ass, oh please – Jun _su_ – please – ’

Junsu moans like the words are a physical caress and only rides Yunho faster, harder. The sounds are slick, filthy when their skin meets – Yunho canting his hips upwards and Junsu dropping down, lube squelching at each press of Yunho’s cock inside of Junsu. The most gorgeous sound – of course – is Junsu’s voice smearing out groans like it’s a song, panting breathlessly, his body flush with the feel of an oncoming orgasm.

Faster and faster now – their fucking is losing rhythm and getting messy, filthy – and Junsu makes a mewling sound, repeatedly squeezing his hole, so much so that Yunho’s breath is knocked out of him with each thrust. His stomach clenches and he spits out, ‘can I – fuck – Su-ah – can I – ’

‘Come, oh god, come,’ says Junsu fiercely, ‘in me, now.’ So Yunho lays his fingers over Junsu’s hips screws up and tight against him, letting Junsu’s clenching hole milk him and finally – oh god – he’s coming and coming _hard_ , leaving ropes of hot semen inside of Junsu, filling him till the brim and Yunho can’t fucking _breathe_.

His hips stutter out their orgasm in half a dozen sloppy, messy thrusts, feeling the warmth of his semen slinking around the skin of his softening cock as he finally slips out, but Junsu is still hard. Before Yunho can remark on this, Junsu slides forward, straddling his chest, one hand against the headboard, the other holding base of his cock. His gaze is dark, unrelenting, and Yunho can only helplessly stare up at him, his muscles relaxing from his orgasm.

‘Will you let me come?’ murmurs Junsu, and Yunho closes his eyes in acceptance, mouth opening up so that Junsu feeds him his cock inch by inch. He hears a stifled gasp as the soft skin of Junsu’s balls knock against his chin – ‘oh, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous like this.’

Yunho opens his eyes, trapped within Junsu’s answering gaze, the one that warms his skin, makes him feel precious, loved, and hums around the cock in his throat. It doesn’t take much – when Junsu begins fucking his mouth, chasing after his own orgasm, his breathing stilted and harsh, balls slapping against Yunho’s chin.

Like this, Yunho becomes a toy, a wet hole to fuck – reduced to nothing but Junsu’s pleasure, and he gives in to it, lets his brain become white noise as he admires the straining muscle in Junsu’s neck as he screws his cock harshly into Yunho’s mouth, making him choke on it.

He can’t breathe but maybe it doesn’t matter because he can’t think, can’t form any words apart from Junsu’s name repeated over and over in his psyche, seared into his brain and the space behind his ribs, and Junsu moans his name sweet and loud, grinding deep before his orgasm hits – a shiver sliding down his spine before he begins to come hard in Yunho’s mouth.

Junsu backs out a little too soon, and stripes Yunho’s cheek, his neck, his collarbone with spunk, decorating him, and Yunho is dazed but satisfied, his hands sliding up Junsu’s thighs and stroking his thumbs against Junsu's sharp hipbones in thanks.

‘Oh, Yunho,’ he hears Junsu breathe – so soft and reverent that it makes Yunho want to cry. Instead, his eyes flutter close and he lets Junsu look after him, slowly, wiping the come and sweat and spit with a washcloth from his body, leaving him cleaned and warm.

Finally, Junsu sets an alarm and pulls the sheets over both of them, lining up against him, legs tangled against each other, the sole of Junsu’s foot sliding comfortingly against the back of Yunho’s calf. Yunho hums, sated and lazy, curling his arms around Junsu and holding him close, murmuring a ‘thank you, Su-ah,’ against his hair.

‘Yunho,’ repeats Junsu – with that same softness, same care, same _adoration_. ‘Yunho.’ And Yunho falls asleep, warm and good.

-

Yunho doesn’t come home before two in the morning for a week.

-

Admittedly, no one is going to check in on the dance rooms in the middle of night, but Yunho still feels horribly exposed when Junsu corners him, kisses the protests out of his mouth until he’s pliant, his back against the cool mirror behind him.

He slides down, knees drawn upwards and legs spread and of course Junsu would be ready for something like this. He asks, just once, ‘will you let me?’ and Yunho has half a mind to confess that he would let Junsu do anything for him because no one else knows him inside-out, looks at him like he’s made of gold and silver, like he’s a treasure.

Instead, he manages a stifled, ‘fuck me,’ his voice smeared again with that accent he tries so fucking hard to suppress, but Junsu likes it. Likes breaking Yunho apart, whether it’s with his mouth on Yunho’s cock, or his ass swallowing said cock whole, or – now – with his fingers pressing insistently against Yunho’s fluttering hole.

‘Keep talking,’ says Junsu, a half-smile on his mouth, his eyes already blown from arousal. His gaze threatens to swallow Yunho whole, and he can’t escape, loves feeling like he doesn’t have to do anything, just follow Junsu wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted.

‘Your fingers are fuckin’ short,’ bites out Yunho but the effect is lost when Junsu slides them agonizingly slow inside of him.

‘Want something else then?’ humours Junsu, kneeling in front of him, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt while Yunho is naked and the mirror and hardwood floors connected to his skin is now too warm, too harsh against his form. Yet, he can’t focus on the minor discomforts when his ass is being stretched, slowly, obscenely. When he looks over Junsu’s shoulder, he can see himself – his panting, open mouth, his brows drawn together in pleasure, sweat gathering at the crook of his collarbone, the spread of his legs and Junsu’s back.

Junsu notices – he always does. When Yunho doesn’t reply to the question, he follows the line of Yunho’s eyes and laughs. ‘Do you see yourself? How gorgeous you look?’ With purpose, he slips in a third finger slow and careful. ‘So hot for it, hyung. Want you to see yourself.’

Yunho makes a muffled noise in the back of his throat, his eyes caught in his own gaze, and shifts his hips, drawing Junsu’s fingers deeper into him. When Junsu finds what he’s looking for, Yunho’s body seizes, and he can’t look away from the way his expression crumples in helpless pleasure. ‘Junsu – fuckin’ please – want your cock – ’

The fingers pull out and Junsu strips himself quickly of his shirt, shorts, and boxers. He catches Yunho under his arms and pulls him up despite the shaking anticipation that vibrates in Yunho’s body. He’s forcibly turned around, faced up close with his own wanton face.

‘Hold yourself up against the mirror,’ says Junsu, his voice still steady as he drags the tip of his cock along the crease of Yunho’s ass. ‘Want you to see yourself, hyung,’ and he pushes the crown past the initial ring of muscle, ‘see how I see you – so gorgeous for it – ’

Yunho sobs, feels himself be speared open, stretched and pushed past his limit. This is his first time, and he helplessly follows the curve of his own eyelashes, the line of his nose, the arch of his cheekbones as his mouth works over silent words – something like, ‘oh fuck – I’m full – I’m so fuckin’ _full_ , Su-ah – ’

Except Junsu can’t hear him, only pulls back and fucks into him, steady and careful. The rhythm is slow and deep and Yunho can feel each drag of cock inside of him, pull out inch by inch, and push right back in. His pants are fogging up the mirror, his nails scratching as he tries to hold on, lets the sensation run him up the wall with how hot and stretched and full he is of Junsu, of Junsu’s cock, of Junsu’s love.

He can’t think – but he can moan and he does – loud and slutty for it. Junsu leaves gentle kisses along his spine to contrast with the sharp movements of his hips. It has Yunho’s knees buckling, his forearm now braced against the mirror to hold himself, arching his back, his ass out like an offering and Junsu screws faster and deeper into him for it.

‘Can you come like this?’ asks Junsu, his voice so deliberately soft and gentle when his nails dig tight into Yunho’s hips and slams hard into him. ‘Yunho-ah, can you?’

‘I – ’ Yunho is having trouble thinking and maybe breathing. ‘I – don’t know – I – fuck – ’

‘Oh – look at yourself – c’mon, hyung, can you?’ presses the other, and his thrusts are getting harder, faster. The curve of Junsu’s cock knocks something inside of him and Yunho’s knees buckle again, but this time he drops – hard – onto the wooden floor. The pain shoots up and melds, turns back on itself as pleasure and makes him groan, forehead knocking against the mirror as he gets on his hands and knees without conscious thought.

The angle shifts, gets deep and Junsu’s cock is right against his hole, pressing up against that spot that makes Yunho see stars. His tongue is heavy, mouth dry, and he pants, forearm still braced as he stares at himself, at the wanton desire painted over his face. Then – when his eyes flick to the side – there’s Junsu’s face, slack with pleasure, his eyes all-consuming as he stares at mirror Yunho’s face.

‘Come for me, Yundol-ah,’ he says, his hot breath laving over the back of Yunho’s neck, and Yunho feels strung out, his body tight with tension, nothing in his head but Junsu’s voice telling him, whispering, commanding – ‘you can do it – with my cock in your ass, c’mon, hyung, you can – ’

‘Junsu!’ he sobs, frantic, and his hips meet Junsu for every thrust, his gaze locked at the tight shiver that runs through his own body. He focuses on the stretch, the burn, the string of pain when Junsu’s cock catches at his rim, the slap of skin on skin, Junsu’s nails at his hips, his soft lips grazing _oh so gently_ over the arch of his spine and –

‘I will – I will – just – fuck me – ’ manages Yunho in a strangled gasp, and Junsu delivers, his hips doing a dirty grind right against Yunho’s hole once, twice, thrice – and Yunho is gone, his mind going blank and seeing nothing but the panorama of his body rippling as his muscles tighten once and release, his cock – flushed and curved – coming in a mess, striping the mirror with semen with the force of his orgasm.

Yunho is helpless to Junsu’s messy thrusts, rhythm tossed aside for roughness and the need to chase his own orgasm. He teeters between passing out and wanting to feel himself be marked, be taken – because he doesn’t want to think for a little while, doesn’t want to hold himself up. Yet, Junsu is there, an arm thrown across his chest pulling him up so the angle changes once more and Junsu is fucking so fucking _deep_ into him.

‘You’re so good for me,’ praises Junsu, and Yunho lolls his head back against Junsu’s shoulder, lets himself be used up for the last few dozen thrusts, his body all empty for Junsu fill him up – with words and come and attention.

Junsu finally releases in a flurry, the rush of warmth inside of Yunho making him gasp as he squirms, rocking to each minute thrust underneath him while Junsu uses his ass to milk the rest of his orgasm from him.

Finally, Junsu loosens his grip around Yunho’s chest, easing his soft cock out, snapping the line of come between the tip of his dick and Yunho’s leaking asshole. Yunho is trying to breathe again, letting Junsu manhandle him like he always does after sex – leaning him against the mirror, brushing his hair from his face, peppering his cheeks and neck with soft kisses.

With flailing hands, Yunho cups Junsu’s cheeks, drags him in for a slow, long kiss, his mind still a hazy blank, and he hasn’t felt more used up, sore, and _blissful_ than now, with Junsu sliding his arms around Yunho and kissing him back with that same softness that he says Yunho’s name – all careful gentility and adoration.

‘You’re amazing, so so amazing,’ repeats Junsu, fishing out a water bottle and washcloth from his bag to the side and cleaning him up, down his chest, ducking beneath his balls and tracing around the flushed rim of his hole. Yunho moans softly, ‘’m sore, Su-ah.’

‘S’alright,’ replies Junsu easily, ‘I’ll take care of you.’

-

Yunho doesn’t come home before two in the morning for a month.

-

(You feel like it’s been a year)

-

‘Hyung,’ says Junsu, his voice vibrating through the phone speaker. ‘ _Hyung_.’ His voice breaks.

It’s one in the morning, and Yunho is sitting in an empty conference room, interview transcripts spread in front of him, a half-empty cup of coffee cooling at his elbow, three pens scattered over the tabletop, but all his attention narrows down to the sliver of breath that shakes in a rush of static over the line.

‘Junsu,’ breathes Yunho, ear pressed tight against his cell, and only hears Junsu say it once more – a broken, shivering, ‘ _hyung_ ,’ and – oh – he’s crying – he’s –

-

Junsu doesn’t say words, just cups Yunho’s neck, drags him down into bed, beside him. When Yunho curls his arms around the frame against him, he feels the wet spot against his neck and the shivers that wrack through Junsu's body.

The crying is silent, physical, and a mystery. Yunho doesn’t question it, just takes him in, keeps him there, breathing in the familiar scent of Junsu as he waits for the other to calm down. Something isn’t right. Hasn’t been right in the last few days, or maybe month, or maybe for a very, very long time now.

There’s a fissure in the ground Yunho walks on, running between his two feet, but the world is dark and each step is a gamble on whether he’ll fall through the crack in the earth and never be able to claw himself out again.

(He could be your light, he could be your beacon, he could be your comfort, if you’d let him, y’know)

Yunho slides his fingers down the length of Junsu’s spine, feeling each bump of vertebrae through the thin t-shirt he has on, and quietly sighs into his hair. The fingers clutching against his chest scrabble around Yunho now, embrace him tight, never letting go.

(Oh, he could be your _everything_ but you won’t let him)

-

Jaejoong lays it out for him in one fell swoop with three folders of papers and a weary expression in the morning.

‘A lawsuit,’ echoes Yunho hollowly.

‘Yeah, while you were working yourself to the bone about the band, we decided to do some stuff on our own, basically,’ shrugs Jaejoong. His fingers are shaking when he lights up a cigarette. They’re in the kitchen, but Yunho doesn’t even have a piece of mind to tell him to take it to the balcony because there’s a fucking lawsuit on the table.

‘You, Yoochun and Junsu, then,’ he says flatly.

‘Yunho-ah,’ breathes Jaejoong, smoke billowing between his lips and floating upwards, obscuring his expression for a moment. It clears a beat later, and Jaejoong is pleading with his eyes, face tilted downwards in askance for sympathy. ‘I’ve thought about it. This is a chance. For something else.’

Except there’s a volcano roaring in Yunho’s ears, a blaring white noise that sounds like mountains cracking and the tectonic plates scraping against each other. The world is ending, splintered and angry and red, swarming up around Yunho’s ankles, trying to drag him down down _down_ –

‘Yunho!’ calls Jaejoong after him, cigarette ash dropping over one of the folders, but Yunho is out of the kitchen and out of the apartment before he can feel the flames of betrayal lick at the soles of his feet.

-

(Hyung, it’s been a day, come home)

(Hyung, it’s been three days, come home)

(Hyung, it’s been a week, please, fuck’s sake, Yunho, get the fuck home or – or – )

-

Hiatus is too sweet of a word compared to the hellfire that SM rains down on them. Yunho stands to the side during the negotiations, the arguments, the talks. They’ve sent maknae Changmin home for an extended vacation for now and press up against leader Yunho to make his dongsaengs stand down from their soapbox of ‘company exploitation and abuse’.

He tries, once, and only with Junsu.

Rain patters against the window panes in a staccato rhythm, matching the beat of Yunho’s heart, as he carries two cups of coffee to the kitchen table and sits across from Junsu, waiting. The apartment is swept up in a cool gloom, threading through Yunho’s ribs and curling ice fingers around his heart.

Junsu looks tired, exhausted, hair swept back from his face, the sleepiness making his cheekbones stick out more, his lips dried out, eyes dim. Yunho wants to reach over, kiss it away, sweep his knuckles over the curve of Junsu’s jaw and drag him close.

Instead, he smiles, pained. ‘Are you… really going to do this?’

Junsu runs a finger over the rim of the cup, watching the steam rise and dissipate. When his voice comes, it’s hauntingly raw – years since Yunho’s ever heard emotion smear over syllables –

(Not since you got the news about Four Seasons and he had felt so much despair, had thought he would never make it, never catch up to you, not knowing that you thought him so much better than you. Don’t you fucking forget – you’ve known him for years upon years)

‘You don’t have to take care of us anymore, hyung, we’re getting out of your hair.’ He flicks his eyes up and catches Yunho’s gaze, waits for a reaction.

Yunho’s throat is tight. ‘You were never a burden, Su-ah.’

‘Then come with us. You don’t have to stay here, you don’t have to be hurt like this.’

‘ _You’re_ hurting me,’ exclaims Yunho. ‘I made sure – I made sure we were ready for everything, and you – you’re the best of us – you can’t lose this – ’ His jaw shuts with a click and he sucks in a breath. Another. A third. ‘You can be better than all of us. You are. So why are you leaving what made you?’

Junsu is staring at him, eyes shining, and Yunho meets him head-on, chest crowding up with the words he wants to keep spilling, wants to keep saying and repeating until there’s no oxygen left in the room. Just wants Junsu to _understand_.

‘Because I can be better,’ replies Junsu softly. ‘I got this far, but – it’s like healing from an injury and ripping the bandage. Throwing away a crutch. I got as far as I need with this but I can be better, Yunho. And you…’

(There are too many years of history laden with sweat, dust, tears between you for you to not realize what he’s going to say, with the way he smiles at you makes you think you’re a treasure, something priceless that’s worthy his attention, but you’re not – you’re – )

‘I’m not as good as you, Junsu,’ he says. ‘I need this crutch.’

Junsu’s jaw locks, neck straining, and Yunho thinks for a split second that Junsu is going to hit him.

‘When you look at yourself,’ he spits out instead, rough and careless, standing up so that the scrape of the chair is discordant and loud, fury coursing upwards through his veins, ‘do you even see yourself? Do you even know what you’re like? Do you – you’re – you’re so fucking much, Yunho, but you don’t even fucking know it – ’

‘Su-ah,’ says Yunho, and his voice is breaking, shattering, glass shards all over the floor of this life –

‘I love you,’ says Junsu, voice dropping, going soft, helpless, ‘but you’re going to fucking let me go without a fight.’

(oh – oh – oh – he could be your _everything_ – but you’re never going to fucking let him – )

‘Yes,’ says Yunho, tongue heavy in his mouth. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘I’ll see you after the lawsuit,’ bites out Junsu, and leaves.

-

(Except you don’t see him at all. He takes all his things when he knows you’ll be gone, and disappears in a taxi down the long road, turning a corner where the world falls away and you can’t follow)

-

‘Junsu tweeted about you,’ mentions Changmin awkwardly, looking helplessly thin and scrawny without Yoochun and Jaejoong flanking him. Yunho takes a scalding, punishing gulp of his coffee and nods.

‘Thanks for letting me know,’ he says, voice strained. Changmin stands there, shifting from one foot to another.

‘Hyung – ’ he starts.

‘Please,’ cuts in Yunho, smiling apologetically. ‘Thank you for letting me know.’

Slowly, Changmin understands and turns on his heel, leaving Yunho alone in the kitchen. Yunho pulls out his phone, reads the tweets silently, drops the cell loudly on the tabletop and settles into a chair.

For a long while, Yunho sits.

For a long while, Yunho doesn’t think. Not a single word.

(Even after he’s gone, he’s still taking care of you, huh?)

-

Of course Jaejoong would still have his number. His phone is a black hole of information and pictures and blackmail material and Yunho used to pray to god every week that he would never lose it and no one would ever find it. The naked bathroom pictures of the band are incriminating enough; he doesn’t even want to know what Jaejoong has on the cell without their knowledge.

Six months of radio silence are so easily broken when Jaejoong’s voice filters through the speaker, soft and joyous and _not wrecked_ , which is what Yunho is looking for as their conversation continues. He hopes his own voice doesn’t waver.

He misses them – like a phantom limb, pain ghosting through his nervous system when he least expects it, when he’s just lying in bed in the gloom of the night and trying to figure out where it all went wrong, replaying memories like old CD tracks, scratches of emotions making the song skip and start over and over again.

‘You’re still living in the apartment, huh?’ mentions Jaejoong.

‘Yeah.’

‘You should come up to see mine, then. It’ll be nice. I have your favourite coffee.’

Inadvertently, Yunho laughs – and the sound is a complete surprise caught in his throat, so he agrees without thinking on it.

Which is how he ends up in the cool winter air, bundled in a scarf, sunglasses, and coat buttoned all the way up. His gloved hands punch in the entry code to the building – a long sleek thing that spans dozens of storeys upwards. Of course Jaejoong would choose something so obviously wealthy in the middle of downtown.

He rides up the elevator and thinks on regrets – he should’ve told Changmin where he was going – but the excitement is bubbling up his throat. To see Jaejoong again, and maybe Yoochun afterwards and let Changmin know and see his face break open in a smile, and maybe Ju –

Yunho’s throat closes up.

The elevator doors slide open, and he walks down the cream-painted hall, eyes on the black door numbers embossed against the white-washed wood and comparing them to the address in his phone. Yunho passes nine doors before finally knocking on the right one and waits.

Jaejoong doesn’t open the door at all.

Yunho steps back, ready to bolt, his brain white noise as panic ratchets up his spine because he shouldn’t be here – he shouldn’t – oh fuck –

‘Yunho,’ breathes Junsu, eyes wide, mouth parted around a breath, his whole body frozen on the spot as he leans against the door jamb, holding the door open, only able to stare.

‘I – This – a mistake, Jaejoong – ’ blurts Yunho, feeling helplessly exposed, his eyes unable to leave Junsu’s face, take him in. He looks better now – the bruises under his eyes have lessened, his cheeks are round compared to the gaunt look six months ago, and there’s a healthy colouring to his entire face that Yunho hasn’t seen in so fucking long.

Junsu blinks rapidly but he sucks in a breath. ‘Jaejoong said he was coming over today.’

‘He – he told me this was his apartment.’

The air sits heavy between them, tightening around Yunho’s throat, quietly suffocating him as he watches Junsu. Junsu’s oversized white sweater, a pair of loose jeans, slippers on his feet. His hair is mussed – he must’ve just woken up, it _is_ late morning – but the sleepiness is wiped from his bright eyes, his lips now pressed in a thin line as comprehension dawns on him.

‘He tricked us,’ says Junsu flatly. For a moment, Yunho thinks he’s going to get the door closed on his face, but Junsu steps back and opens it fully, his mouth moving – ‘now that you’re here, come in.’

‘Okay,’ says Yunho without thought, obeying, and shuffles inside. The apartment is wide for one person, clean and furnished with mostly white and glass, accents of cream and black and blue scattered throughout. Yunho toes off his shoes, shedding his coat and scarf and sunglasses. Without a word, Junsu takes them away and hangs them up in the closet beside the door.

‘Did you eat breakfast yet?’ asks Junsu, back turned towards him as he enters the kitchen with its clean counters and dishes drying on the rack by the sink. Just to the left of the space is a round glass table with four chairs around it.

‘No, I – ’ Yunho debates mentioning Jaejoong’s promise for coffee and food and decides that no mention of their friend is going to make this any less awkward. Instead, he shuts his mouth and settles into a chair, watching the fluid movements of Junsu as he starts his coffee machine, pouring the water and grounds inside, and, oh, it _is_ Yunho’s favourite kind.

‘You – you look good,’ he says, voice faltering halfway. Junsu turns around, watching him.

‘You still look terrible.’

Self-conscious, Yunho flutters his fingers to his face, grazing the skin, and it has Junsu shaking his head, smiling slightly. In three steps, Junsu closes the distance between them, standing tall in front of Yunho’s seated form, looking down at him.

‘Do you hate me?’ he asks softly, and Yunho forgets how to breathe when Junsu’s hands cup his cheeks so easily, so familiarly, thumb skimming over the curve under his eyes.

‘Never,’ he replies, the words in his chest spilling out, the ones he desperately wished he had said – yelled – cried – repeated and carved into Junsu’s soul the way it’s imprinted within him. ‘You’re my best friend, Junsu-ah. I love you. I always will.’

The coffee machine beeps and starts pouring the drink with a hiss. Immediately, Junsu steps away, his face turned to hide his expression from Yunho and it makes him feel frustrated. Grudgingly, Yunho lets the touch leave him and watch how Junsu picks two mugs from a cupboard and pours the coffee in, bringing them back to the table and sitting across from him, propping his chin in the palm of his hand as he watches Yunho.

‘How are you?’ asks Junsu, voice soft. Yunho shrugs, blowing the steam from his own cup.

‘I’m – I’m living.’ There’s a pause and Junsu levels him with an expectant stare. Yunho sighs. ‘They want us to keep going – Changminnie and I.’ He fidgets in his chair. ‘I want to do it. I want to keep dancing and singing, and Changminnie said he’d help me.’

‘He’s always had a soft spot for you,’ points out Junsu, not unkindly. ‘We all do.’

Something ugly bubbles up in Yunho’s throat. ‘But you left.’

Junsu takes the blow with grace, blinking once and taking a deep breath. ‘I’m not going to apologize. I needed to leave – the company, and you.’

The coffee is hot on Yunho’s tongue and the pain distracts him from the ache in his chest. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve been better.’

‘No!’ snaps Junsu suddenly, face creased in irritation, and it makes Yunho lean back sharply in his chair. ‘You shouldn’t – you shouldn’t have done anything. You worked the hardest of us all. You did more than you needed every fucking day, but now – now it’s just you and Changmin-ah. Now you can take a breather.’

‘You left me so I wouldn’t have to worry about you?’ retorts Yunho incredulously.

‘Yes,’ he replies simply. ‘Even – even when I tried so hard to tell you that you can depend on people, y’know. You can ask us for help. You don’t have to do this alone – but you never listened.’

‘I was the leader! I _am_ the leader!’

‘No, Yunho – it’s just you and Changminnie now,’ says Junsu firmly. ‘It’s not hyung and dongsaeng anymore. It’s not fuckin’ leader-sshi and maknae anymore. It’s you and a partner. That’s what’s different – Jaejoong, Yoochun and I are partners. Not – there’s no leaders.’

Yunho stares at Junsu helplessly, unable to reply, and Junsu’s face crumples with emotion welling deep from his chest. He continues: ‘You can depend on Changmin the way you never could with us. You can be healthier, happier. If you’re not going to leave that fucking company, than at least – hyung, _please_ – at least be easy to yourself.’ Junsu hiccups, tears shining in his eyes. ‘Take care of yourself, Yunho.’

The words swing and hit hard somewhere in Yunho’s chest. His eyes are burning and he can feel the hot tracks of tears slide down his cheeks. He feels stupid and young and helpless, everything about him exposed under Junsu’s gaze. It’s so unfair, so fucking unfair – how best friends can just rip each other up like this and leave each other vulnerable.

‘I miss you,’ says Yunho finally, voice cracking. ‘I miss you more than anyone.’

Junsu stands up and walks around the table, cups Yunho’s cheeks once more, wiping at the tears and somehow, Yunho’s fingers end up curled white-knuckled at the hem of Junsu’s sweater, pulling tight. With a thud, Junsu’s knees hit the floor, and Yunho is folding himself downwards to tuck his face in the crook of Junsu’s neck, leaving wet streaks over the skin as his body shakes and shivers with sobs.

‘Got you, got you,’ murmurs Junsu, over and over again, into Yunho’s ear, his hands sliding up and down the curve of his spine, holding him close, holding him tight.

He’s a fully grown adult, but he lets Junsu hold his hand, take him into the bedroom, slide him under the sheets and curl up around him. He pulls Yunho so the line of their bodies don’t have any space between them; leaving butterfly kisses over his forehead, cheeks, eyelids, nose, ear, chin, neck, mouth.

For the first time in a long, long while, Yunho feels warm and safe and falls asleep without a thought.

-

It’s late afternoon when Yunho wakes up, his face feeling scratchy and throat dry. The bedside table to the left has a clock, lamp, and glass of water, which Yunho downs immediately. The window to the right has the curtains drawn but he can still see the light spilling between the fabric, leaving a subtle orange glow throughout the room.

When he stumbles out into the hall, wiping the sleep from his eyes, he ends up in the living room where Junsu is working on something, hunched over his coffee table, a headband pulling his hair back and pen dangling from his mouth. He looks up at the sound of Yunho, standing awkwardly with his shirt and boxers. Junsu must’ve undressed him while he was asleep for comfort.

‘Hey,’ calls out Junsu, gentle, putting the pen down, and Yunho feels a rush of warmth inside of his chest. He walks over to seat himself beside Junsu, eyes scanning over the papers on the table – musical notes, lyrics, multi-coloured edits over the words, and a crumpled bunch of papers that seem like a contract.

‘Solo or JYJ?’ asks Yunho, and Junsu snorts.

‘You’re not doing my work for me.’

‘I’m not!’ defends Yunho easily, his body feeling light. When Junsu looks at him, Yunho doesn’t hesitate in leaning forward, knocking his forehead gently against the other. ‘See? Just curious.’

Junsu hesitates for a beat, then: ‘solo stuff.’

‘You work fast,’ snorts Yunho, but anything else he was going to say is cut off when Junsu tilts his face and kisses his mouth softly, carefully. He pulls away a second later, eyes wide.

‘Is that – is that okay?’ He’s holding his breath, hesitant, but Yunho can think of only one way to reply, and he swings his arms around Junsu’s shoulders, kissing him fully on the lips, messy and enthusiastic and stupidly, ridiculously happy.

Junsu falls backwards on the couch with a muffled sound of surprise, a lap full of squirming, enthusiastic Yunho who is intent on kissing all the oxygen from his lungs. Junsu manages to finally pull away and laughs.

‘This is better. This is so much better,’ he says.

Yunho can’t help but agree. His fingers skip over Junsu’s neck, collarbone, intent on re-acquainting himself with Junsu’s form, but Junsu is sliding away from under him, catching his wrists in a grip, gaze intent on Yunho. ‘Please,’ he begs, once.

‘I will,’ he replies, softly. ‘I won’t need you, anymore. I’ll just want you.’

‘And you can have me,’ says Junsu, smiling.

(Oh, he could be your everything – )

-

Changmin is reading on the couch when Yunho comes home, the drama on TV muted, and he seems surprised when Yunho pops his head in the living room to greet the other.

‘You’re staring. Something on my face?’ asks Yunho lightly, shaking off his coat and scarf, folding the clothes in his arm.

For a moment, Changmin hesitates. Then: ‘you’re home early.’

‘I know,’ he replies. ‘By the way, what do you think of meeting with manager-hyung tomorrow? He wants to talk about album concepts and you should be there.’

Yunho laughs when Changmin immediately agrees.

( – but he shouldn’t have to be)

-

**Author's Note:**

> by far the saddest fic I've ever written, but much thanks to my friend Jenn for listening to me and helping me through this entire thing.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, thank you for reading!


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